


Keep Your Eyes on Me

by AnnaNocturnal



Series: Requests and Challenges [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, Hurt Sam, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Platonic Cuddling, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Protective Dean, Schmoop, Sharing a Bed, Supernatural Kink Meme, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3836854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaNocturnal/pseuds/AnnaNocturnal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since he was sprung from the cage, Sam hasn’t been able to sleep unless he’s touching Dean; can’t get to sleep without Dean’s face right by his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Your Eyes on Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at the spnkink-meme livejournal community.

When Sam was Sammy, back before he shed the baby fat and went to college and came back and went to hell and came back… Before Jessica burning on the ceiling and Ruby and Lillith and Lucifer and the whole damned apocalyptic mess…

When Sam was Sammy, he would crawl into bed with Dean in the middle of the night whenever he was awoken by some nightmare. Dean would only wake up halfway, take one look at Sammy’s face, and slide over, pulling the covers back to let his baby brother slide in and cuddle close into Dean’s chest. 

Back then it’d been pretty normal little-kid stuff that haunted Sammy’s dreams. Irregular and frequency and, though terrifying, pretty unlikely to touch him in real life. Removed; distant. 

Now, they _were_ real, Sam’s time in the cage with Michael and Lucifer playing on an endless loop any time he closed his eyes to drift off. No longer an irregularity, but a guarantee. So now, rather than crawling into Dean’s bed in the middle of the night, he started out there. Dean didn’t mind. Growing up, they had spent more nights than they could count crammed into the backseat of the Impala in a tangle of limbs as they slept. It was nothing new, the feeling of Sam pressed against him. His brother was bigger now, but that was about it. 

Bigger Sam, same weird sleeping habits. 

He’d start out facing Dean, one hand tucked under his chin and the other pressed flat against Dean’s chest, comfortingly solid under warm cotton as it rose and fell with each inhale and exhale. His face would be close to Dean’s, close enough to feel the older man’s slow, steady breath against his face. 

But Sam moved a lot during the night, once sleep pulled him under. Sometimes he’d roll further into Dean, who would wake just enough to roll onto his back so that it was Sam’s cheek pressed against his shoulder rather than his mouth, so that his little brother wouldn’t wake up gasping for air. Sam would pat his chest once he settled in, two gentle taps, and then he would rub his chest gently until the breathing under it slowed again. Despite the movement, though, Dean knew Sam never woke up at those moments. And for some reason that made the contact seem more genuine, touching, as his brother tried to comfort and soothe him without even knowing he was doing it. 

Occasionally, Sam would roll away from him, usually when whatever crappy motel they were staying at had a busted A/C unit and the heat of their bodies became too much. But even then, he kept one foot pressed against Dean’s shin. And as soon as the room cooled to any sort of bearable temperature he rolled back, reaching out and finding Dean with his fingertips, ghosting over ribs or hips or shoulders or the planes of his back, if Dean was facing away. Once he found him, he’d scoot in, pressing his forehead against his chest or shoulder, a content sigh escaping his lips. 

If Dean happened to break contact with him as they slept, Sam would fling out an arm and a leg, hooking them around Dean’s body and reeling him back in, hands petting him softly as a hum of relief sounded in the back of his throat. 

So Sam was always touching Dean, and as long as Sam was touching Dean, he was fine. And Dean didn’t mind, because Sam had always done this, even when he was Sammy. 

Besides, when Dean reached out in his sleep and pulled his brother close, fitting him against him to shield him from the world, sometimes Sam would let out an appreciative mewl that broke through the haze of sleep in Dean’s mind and made his chest swell happily. He had spent his whole life protecting Sam, and at times it felt like all he did was fail miserably, but that sound made him think he was doing something right. 

They both slept better this way, woke up more rested, spirits a little lighter. 

One night, Dean accidentally discovered a glitch in the system. He woke up at a little after midnight with Sam’s leg wrapped over his, a hand pressed flat on his chest as Sam’s upper body twisted away, his other arm hanging over the side of the bed. He chuckled lightly at the bizarre sleeping position and Sam let out a happy sigh and patted his chest but didn’t wake up. 

Dean gently untangled their legs and slid out of bed, heading into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. He couldn’t have been gone more than two minutes, but when he came back out those content sounds had been replaced by low groans of agony, punctuated by the odd wail that sounded like it was ripping its way out of Sam’s gut. 

Sam had turned almost a full ninety degrees, laying across the bed, his hands flexing and clawing at the sheets—not like he was looking for Dean, but like he had given up the search and was trying to escape, desperately trying to crawl his way out of the cage. 

Dean nearly ran the short distance to the bed, scrambling onto it and over to Sam. He pulled his brother towards him, and the younger man struggled, clawing at Dean’s arms and arching away, another anguished cry ripping from his throat as he twisted against his grasp. Dean refused to let him go, pressing his face against his brother’s too-long hair, forming a cocoon of of limbs and torso around him. 

“You’re okay… You’re okay, Sammy. I’ve got you.” Dean was trying to keep his voice steady, trying to keep the panic at bay. “Just me; just a dream, Sammy. C’mon, wake up.” 

It felt like it went on like that forever; in reality it was probably about fifteen minutes before Sam’s body relaxed and the pained sounds ebbed. 

“Sam?” Dean’s voice was hoarse, the name spoken hesitantly. 

Sam brought his head up, eyes searching wildly and finally resting on Dean’s. Then Sam was squeezing him, long arms and legs crushing Dean as his little brother embraced him, dry sobs ripping from his throat. Dean patted his back, relief seeping through him slowly as Sam calmed down. 

They finally laid back down, the same way they did at the beginning of the night, and Dean could tell from the trembling in Sam’s hands, and the glazed quality of his hazel eyes, that Sam was still trying to shake the last of the nightmare; untangle it from reality and cast it back into the cage where it came from. 

“Keep your eyes on me, Sammy,” Dean whispered, bringing his brother’s hand up to press against his chest. “Just keep your eyes on me. 

  
**The End.**   
_I hope you enjoyed it. :)_   


**Author's Note:**

> Have a prompt you'd like to submit? Click **[here](http://girlgotagun.livejournal.com/8537.html)** and leave a comment, and I'll see what I can do!


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